


There's a History

by screwsfallout



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Epic Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Mama Stilinksi, Mentions of Nightmares, Sickfic, Slight mention of Allison/Scott/Isaac, brief mention of mr. mccall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwsfallout/pseuds/screwsfallout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is sick and miserable.  Scott is a good best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a History

**Author's Note:**

> This fic clearly doesn't follow what we know to be true so far in 3b cannon -- it's just a little drabble I couldn't shake off.

It’s two in the afternoon and Stiles is straight up miserable. He’s restless. He’s cold but he knows he’s running a fever because his teeth ache and he’s not sweating, not even under all his covers, and a sweatshirt, _and_ one of Scott’s long sleeve shirts that got left in Stiles’ room a long time ago.

His Dad keeps bringing him tea, which is precious actually, but Stiles has never really liked tea. It tastes like mint water and hospital visits. Mostly, what Stiles wants is to sleep.

It’s been a few weeks since everything with the Nemeton and Stiles is tired. He’s just, like, really really tired.

When Deaton had said they’d all feel a kind of darkness around their hearts. Well. First, it was stupidly ironic considering Ms. Blake’s choice of books earlier in school ( _Heart of Darkness_. Hah. He still hasn’t read it). But also, Stiles never thought it would be this bad.

You watch your Mom die, “bad” becomes relative. Stiles thought he was fairly good at feeling bad. But, holy shit, this is different.

He hasn’t been sleeping. Mostly, he gets nightmares. Night terrors really, and he is absolutely, 100 percent out of the night terror age bracket, but he still wakes up screaming and has no idea why. Sometimes, he’ll wake up outside in the backyard, barefoot. He literally feels like he’s going crazy. Like he’s already crazy.

And now he’s sick. With the flu or something, he had one day of puking, that was yesterday, and currently he’s just kind of a mess.

“Dude, I hate school without you.” Scott walks in without knocking, and scrunches his nose. “It stinks in here.”

“Yeah well I’m sick dumbass.”

“I thought you said you had a cold.”

“I definitely never said that.” Stiles says, sitting up, which is actually a little hilarious because he looks like a human sausage, all bundled up in layers.

“But you’re like, super sick dude.” Scott walks over to the bed and sits down, patting Stiles on the knee.

“I definitely feel like I’m either dead or dying. Feel free to go through the stages of grief at your own pace.”

Scott raises his eyebrows. “You should take off the sweatshirt.”

“Nope.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, but I also think you might fry your brain.” Stiles doesn’t respond, and Scott huffs. “Anyway, I thought I’d just drop off Finstock’s take home quiz, but I kind of don’t want to leave you alone now, when does your Dad get home?”

“Later.” Stiles hedges, because he hates being coddled.  Intimacy weirdly makes him uncomfortable, even bro intimacy.

“Okay, later when?”

“He’s on night shift. But I can call if I need him.”

Scott frowns and Stiles reiterates, “I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself.”

“Hey, I know. But you look pretty fucking miserable. Just being honest.”

“Well, I feel pretty fucking miserable.”

Scott reaches out and touches Stiles’ cheek with the back of his hand.  “Dude you’re, like, inferno status right now.”

Stiles immediately flinches back. “Don’t caress my cheek weirdo, that’s why you have Allison. And Isaac.”

“Hey!” Scott blushes, because there is definitely no cheek-stroking of any kind with Isaac.

“What, I know you want to.”

“That’s not the point, you’re deflecting!”

“Yes. You are a master observer.” Stiles squeezes his eyes shut because his head is pulsing. It’s like standing next to a speaker at a concert, like a bass line is just rocketing behind his eyes. Everything seems louder. Stiles feels like he can tell every time Scott takes a breath, because it sparks through his head.

“Have you been sleeping?” Scott asks. There’s really no easy way to answer this question, but it also feels unfair because he knows Scott hasn’t been sleeping either. Scott may be a werewolf, but the skin under his eyes is starting to stain purple, like the color of plum juice.

“Have you?” Stiles counters.

“No. Not really.” Scott’s frankness makes Stiles feel uncomfortable. Scott lets the silence sit and then takes Stiles’ hand. He pulls up Stiles’ sweatshirt sleeve, until his fingers are wrapped around Stiles’ wrist.

“Dude, if you wanted to hold my hand all you had to do was ask.”

Scott looks at the ceiling for a second because Stiles can be _so_ _annoying_ , before taking a deep breath and letting his veins turn muddy with Stiles’ pain.

“Ohhh my god,” Stiles sinks back into the pillow for a second, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing out. His mouth falls lax, and he can breathe without hurting. “Oh my god, that was everything, that was so great.”

“I can stay with you. For a little.” Scott pulls away, and has to pause as fogginess briefly rushes over him.

“It’s okay you don’t have to.” Stiles says. And he means it, he’s not lying, but it stills rings really really false.

“Nah, I can stay.”

“Scott seriously, I’m fine.”

Stiles doesn’t mind being weak, he just doesn’t want anyone to see it. He can take care of himself, okay, he’s been doing it for a really long time.

Scott unzips his backpack and casually pulls out his Economics homework, stretching out next to Stiles on the bed. “Shut up.”

And Stiles wants to argue but he remembers all the times he helped Scott use an inhaler during a really bad asthma attack. He remembers curling up with Scott under the covers, with a flashlight, making up stories about dragon brothers who saved the world. He remembers Scott crying on the front porch when Mr. McCall left, and going stag with Scott to their first Junior High dance, and chaining Scott to a radiator during his first full moon as a werewolf. He remembers the way Scott helped him pour Jack Daniels down the sink once.

“Okay,” Stiles says, leaning into Scott a little, because he’s warm. And safe. Stiles wants to remember what it’s like to be comfortable for a second. He feels like he could sleep for a million years. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, this is my first Teen Wolf fic, so be kind!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if ya want: [wise-up-eyes-up](http://wise-up-eyes-up.tumblr.com)


End file.
